


Playful Babies and Needy Husbands

by Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, Cute, Explorer Hamish, Fluff, Hamish is an adorable little thing oh god, M/M, Parentlock, Sick John, fluff is in overdrive, hey i got the rating right this time lol, lots of fluff, so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya/pseuds/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish misses his parents, and decides to take the initiative to find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playful Babies and Needy Husbands

**Author's Note:**

> God, this was so nice to write. Just. Perfection. (Sherlock is the perfect daddy, I swear to fuck.) <3 xx

A tiny, chubby-cheek Hamish Timothy Watson-Holmes shakily sat himself up on his mat in his nursery room, upon awakening unnaturally quick. His vast cobalt eyes, flickering with a tint of turquoise and amber specks, blinked repeatedly, for he was unfamiliar with being so alone in such a large area. The faint noise of a hoarse fit of coughs beat through the walls, and Hamish grimaced, not liking the odd sounds. He wanted his Papa. Or his Da. Both, really. His flurry of inky curls had been growing steadily, and were beginning to frame his face, as well as fall over his eyes, which made him frown. He shook his head gently, and the curls swung away, thankfully. He pressed his palms to the velvety carpeting stretched out across his bedroom, and carefully wriggled his bum as he began to crawl towards the cracked door, head tilted inquisitively. He squeezed through the small opening, and calmly exited the nursery, making a startled noise to the sudden expanse of hardwood beneath his soft fingertips. He disregarded it soon after, and carried on, eyes darting around for any living proof of his parents, anywhere. He noted that the door directly facing him was nudged ajar also, and tentatively advanced, lips parted in wonderment. He’d never explored his home so freely before, nor had he never been so low to the ground, alone, before. He sat himself up once arriving at said door, and, with all his babyish might, pushed it forwards. He beamed once the task was successfully completed, and he waddled inside, tumbling onto his bum shortly after the doorjamb, for his walking was still an entirely questionable skill (they’d only been practicing for a week, after all.)

His eyes lit up to the comforting sight of his Da, Sherlock Watson-Holmes, leaning over the big, big bed, the one with the ridiculous soft mattress that his parents always played with him upon.

“D-Da,” he mumbled, the name unusual still. The brunet sharply wiped his brow, glancing downwards, an eyebrow lifting in confusion to his little baby boy, sitting right beside him. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, Sherlock was very aware of that.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” came an exhausted, throaty baritone. Papa! But Papa didn’t sound good.

Hamish held up his arms, desiring to he cuddled. Sherlock complied, and lifted his little one, rocking him securely in his arms. Hamish cooed in contentment.

“Has he been here the whole time?” John asked tiredly.

“No, I believe he got here all on his own.”

John cracked a lazy grin.

“That’s my good boy. Oh, let me see him,” he murmured in urging.

“You’re ill.”

John huffed in disagreement.

“Can’t I give him a little pat?”

Sherlock gave a fond roll of his eyes, and held Hamish lower, so that John would stroke his little cheek affectionately.

“‘m sorry, baby, Papa’s all sick. I can’t play with you today.”

Hamish didn’t understand the words, but he understood the meaning, somehow. He giggled nevertheless, and leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of John’s nose, smile utterly adorable upon his small lips.

“Would you look at that,” Sherlock chuckled, pleasantly amused.

“He’s so smart, always knows exactly what I need,” John sighed, grateful, “just like my pretty husband.”

Sherlock flushed.

“Shut it, you’re ill, you’re loony when you’re ill.”

“Am not. I just love my gorgeous husband so much more than normal, for he always takes such good care of little ol’ me,” John sang jokingly.

“God, you’re ridiculous. Just rest, sweetheart, you’ve been up all morning. Please?”

“What about Misha?”

“I’ll go and feed him, poor darling needs it, don’t you, baby?” Hamish only gurgled pleasantly in response, much too concentrated on blowing spit bubbles, very amused with himself. John laughed brightly.

“All right, all right, I could definitely use a nap. Just wake me if you need me, okay?”

“Absolutely. Same for myself with you, okay? I’ll check on you in an hour.” Sherlock pressed a warm kiss to John’s damp forehead, before assuring himself that the other was settled down fully. John was unconscious before Sherlock had even gotten himself and his baby to the door, and that little fact relieved Sherlock immensely.

“Mm, now, let’s look after you, darling.”

Hamish swallowed his mess of saliva, and rested his small head on Sherlock’s broad, comfy shoulder, making a sweet noise of happiness. Sherlock felt incredibly satisfied, and snuggled Hamish closer, sighing contentedly because of his beautiful little family. They made his heart swell with joy, and that’s all he’s really ever needed; just a hell of a lot of love.


End file.
